A MAN OF NO IMPORTANCEArts Theatre, London WC2Opened 11 February, 2010****

The Arts Theatre has lately been one of
the West End’s “cursed” venues, with a succession of productions
ranging from the mediocre to the downright rancid; for a while its very
future was in doubt. The tiny Union Theatre, in contrast, has been
consistently punching above its weight from its home beneath a railway
viaduct in Southwark. Could a transfer of a show from the Union help
rehabilitate the Arts? On this showing, it deserves to.

Lynn Ahrens and Stephen Flaherty’s 2002 musical is based on a 1994 film
focusing on Alfie Byrne, a bus conductor in 1960s Dublin. Alfie is
unmarried, has a passion for amateur dramatics and in particular Oscar
Wilde, and likes to cook... well, as codes go, it’s not exactly the
Enigma, is it? When he decides that his church drama group will stage
Wilde’s Salomé, a
combination of misunderstandings and misfortunes force Alfie and those
around him to confront the reality of his identity.

It could simply be a so-so sexual-realisation tale turned into an
equally so-so piece of musical theatre. Thankfully, the material is
handled by all concerned with intelligence and skill, so that it
becomes rather more. Terrence McNally’s book has a handful of unsubtle
moments, but many more instances of the opposite. Ahrens and Flaherty’s
songs, although written in contemporary stage-musical idiom, are
superior examples thereof, and at least one number – in which
bus-driver Robbie introduces Alfie to the personalities found on “The
Streets of Dublin” – is first-rate in anyone’s book.

Ben De Wynter’s production finds liveliness and sensitivity in all the
right places. The larger Arts space has allowed designer James Turner
to construct a false proscenium arch for the church hall, but De Wynter
cannily uses it only for a few tableaux, realising that his actors need
to be downstage where they can connect with us. Paul Clarkson, once one
gets past his imperfect Oirish accent, ably conveys Alfie’s inner and
outer lives; the St Imelda’s Players are, in the words of one
character, “bloody awful” and the actors enjoy portraying broad types
(including a choreographer who suggests a tap-Dance of the Seven
Veils!) but never devalue their characters. It is a joy to leave the
Arts after a show with not black murder but a song in one’s heart.